


The Lost Year

by GhostGarrison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, BAMF Karl, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Muteness, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Solitary Confinement, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9849875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: [written for the DA Kink Meme]A year. A whole year, they've kept Anders in solitary confinement in the deepest dungeon of Kinloch Hold--a punishment that doesn't match the crime. When Enchanter Karl Thekla learns of what has become of his beloved apprentice, it's too late to reason with the templars. Instead, Karl fights to have Anders released but to no avail. He's left with waiting, hoping, feeling failure as the months go by. But when Anders finally surfaces, he returns to Karl's life lost and broken.





	

**Author's Note:**

> And here it is, 7.4k of horrifically gratuitous, terribly cliche, and absolutely self-indulgent Anders h/c angst. Enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> [For this Dragon Age Kink Meme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13010.html?thread=56413138)

It takes three days for Karl to discover what has become of his beloved apprentice.

And when he finally hears of it—from the whisperings of passerby templars, no less—he goes from worried to _furious_ in the blink of an eye.

“Where is he?” He demands while striding into Knight-Commander Greagoir’s office, halting only a foot away from his desk. When the older man doesn’t turn his attention away from the letters he’s reading silently, Karl slams both firsts on the edge of the desk as he repeats himself. “I said: _where_ is my apprentice?”

The older templar sighs, the tired expression upon his face betraying his age. He sets aside his reading and sits up in his chair, giving the enchanter the respect of being addressed directly. “Enchanter Thekla, I do believe you already know the answer.”

Karl presses his lips into a thin line. The response—as uninformative and patronizing as it is—is all he requires to know that what the templars were saying is true.

“On what grounds?” he grits through his teeth with all the civility he can muster.

“Allow me to find the official order,” Ser Greagoir says, shuffling through the stacks of documents.

Karl has to clench his fists and bite his tongue to keep himself from saying or doing anything he’ll regret while the older man searches for the right letter at a painfully sluggish pace. The slowness of the man’s movements are not from age or ability, but rather a deliberate show of power. Karl is at the mercy of the Knight-Commander and has no right to ask him to go any faster.

“Ah, here we are,” the Knight-Commander says finally, fishing a single page from the disarray. The parchment is fresh and crisply folded into thirds, bearing the Chantry’s seal in wax as red as blood. He clears his throat, reciting every word meticulously recorded by one of the tower’s scribes. “ _‘Apprentice Anders is hereby confined to the solitary quarters in the lowest level of Kinloch Hold Circle Tower until further notice.’_ ”

“The charges?” Karl demands, trying his best to reign in the fury in his voice.

Ser Greagoir’s eyes flick up from the parchment as a silent command for Karl’s patience and composure. He clears his throat again, continuing to read from the parchment. “ _‘The Templar Order of Kinloch Hold have found Apprentice Anders guilty of several delinquent actions as read: attempted escape, criminal evasiveness, and assault on a knight-templar using magic.’_ ”

While the first two are not surprising—Anders has a record of escapes of variable degrees of success from before he was placed under Karl’s tutelage—the third makes Karl pause. His apprentice’s heart is full of fire and spirit, but something must have happened for him to actually lash out at a templar. Attempting to engage a templar is like signing one’s own death warrant or volunteering for the Rite of Tranquility. Every mage likes to test the boundaries of what they can do in the tower, but every mage also knows the line that can’t be crossed.

“Will that suffice, Enchanter Thekla?” the Knight-Commander asks, sounding lethargic from his apathy.

It would be unwise to argue that what Anders did was not foolish, but the issue now lies with the ludicrous bureaucracy of situation. Standing tall and proud as he can as a mid-level enchanter before the highest-ranking templar in the tower, Karl agrees. “It does. However, as his mentor, I should have been notified immediately as he is my responsibility.”

“And what good would it do for either you or your apprentice?” Ser Greagoir asks, his armor creaking as he stands up from his chair. Suddenly Karl feels less tall, less proud, when the templar rises to full height. “Anders was caught in the act of escaping, and multiple witnesses state that he used magic to assault a templar during capture. Whether or not you were present, he was found guilty of these crimes and will face the appropriate punishment.”

The stern and dominating tone growing in the man’s usually calm voice leaves no room for debate. Karl swallows, but nods. “How long?”

At this, the Knight-Commander’s lips pull into a tight smile. “Considering what number escape attempt this is, we’ll wait and see.”

“How many days?” The enchanter cannot stop himself from pressing for a better, more definitive answer. “A week? Two?”

“Go back to your lessons, Enchanter,” the templar replies simply.

“More than two? A month?”

But Ser Greagoir does not give him another word, taking the seat at his desk once more and turning all of his attention to the letter he was reading. Another templar comes to fetch Karl, escorting him from the office all the way back to the main library where a group of young apprentices await his instruction.

Three days later, Karl has still not seen robe nor hair of his apprentice. His apprehension grows when he is directed to a Knight-Captain who has been put in charge of the tower’s dungeons. The templar gives him no clearer answer than Ser Greagoir about the time that Anders might be released, thus Karl begins counting the days...

♠

 **The 12th Day:** Karl returns to Greagoir to ask about his apprentice, but is instead redirected to some cocky young templar who adamantly refuses to allow ‘his prisoner’ to have a visitor. “Another week,” Ser Oswin says. Karl relishes in the feeling of relief, but it’s ripped away from him when the man adds, “maybe.”

 **The 19th Day:** The next week, the templar only shakes his head when he asks for the release of his apprentice. The malicious pleasure in Oswin’s voice when he says “We’ll let him rot in there for a little longer” causes a chill to claw up Karl’s spine. He fights the overwhelming urge to rip the smile right off the man’s face.

 **The 28th Day:** Karl becomes impatient with the dungeon’s supervisor, losing his temper with the templar’s callousness regarding Anders’ sentence. He shouts obscenities at the man, only to be removed and confined to his quarters for the day. Sitting on his mattress, he can’t help thinking about how his apprentice must feel, locked away all alone in the deepest, darkest dungeon.

 **The 53rd Day:** After being turned away so many times, Karl begins appealing to anyone who will listen—mages and templars alike. Several of his fellow enchanters lend him a sympathetic ear, agreeing that Anders’ sentence has been unfair, but can’t help him any more than that. While most templars act like they can’t hear him, those who do listen simply shrug and brush him off.

 **The 75th Day:** Over two months after the start of Anders’ punishment pass and Karl has completely given up on requesting for Anders’ release. It’s become increasingly clear that Ser Oswin has no real intention of letting the apprentice go anytime soon, and the feeling of devastating failure washes over him. But what of his beloved apprentice? Does he think that Karl has forgotten about him? The thought hangs heavy in his heart.

 **The 91st Day:** It takes far too long to find a templar who will accept his bribe. The fresh-faced templar doesn’t know what this might cost him—the _both_ of them—and smuggles a note down to the dungeons. The slip of paper, small enough to be hidden beneath a bowl, can only fit a few words. There are so many things he wants to tell Anders, but he settles on “ _stay strong — K._ ”

 **The 100th Day:** The feeling Karl has after sending Anders a message is short-lived when he realizes that he may never receive a note in return. He presses the templar for any information about Anders. “ _Please,_ ” he begs, abandoning any notion of sounding calm and dignified. “Please just tell me if he’s okay. Give me anything, just tell me anything.” But the templar does not.

 **The 133rd Day:** “Anders!” he finds himself screaming the instant he wakes, chest heaving as he desperately gasps for the air that was stolen from his lungs. The nightmares come more often now, almost every night, stealing his sleep and making him listless during the day. But it’s nothing compared to what his apprentice must be going through. Nothing.

 **The 158th Day:** Finally having scrounged up enough to bribe the templar again, Karl writes another note. “ _Trying to rescue — K._ ” Though he really is trying to spring Anders from excessive confinement, it still feels like a lie.

 **The 170th Day:** Growing ever so impatient, Karl convinces the templar to accept his I.O.U. to smuggle another message to the dungeon. “ _Please hold on — K._ ”

 **The 196th Day:** Almost two hundred days pass and the guilt eats away at him slowly, weighing on him and threatening to drown him in the shadowy depths of his own mind. “ _I’m so sorry — K._ ”

 **The 211th Day:** In the still midnight silence of the tower, Karl wipes the tears away with the hem of his sleeve while he pens another message. “ _I love you — K._ ”

 **The 229th Day:** Another intense nightmare shakes him from slumber once more, leaving Karl with troublesome thoughts for the remainder of the restless night. The familiar feeling of failure twists and mutates into an emotion he hasn’t felt for quite some time: anger. He welcomes it with open arms, cursing the system, the templars, but mainly himself.

 **The 250th Day:** His fellow enchanters have noted how distant he’s become, hiding away in his chambers to squander his free time—something Anders doesn’t have yet has an abundance of. His students have long since realized that his thoughts wander during lessons, often having to repeat themselves to get his attention: “Enchanter, is this right? Enchanter?” Not only has he failed his apprentice, but he’s failing his students as well.

 **The 287th Day:** The nightmares wake him often, but some are horrifying enough to have him heaving over the edge of his bed the moment he gains consciousness. Tears flood his eyes, unable to hold back the sobs that wrack his body. The images of Anders—bloodied and bruised, brutalized under the ruthless hands of templars who never answer for their actions—are not ones he can easily forget.

 **The 299th Day:** Just after midnight, Karl hears the slightest noise coming from the door. It takes so much out of him to rise from bed, his body is weakened and worn from both worry and exhaustion. It’s a tiny slip of parchment, just big enough to be stashed in a glove, and Karl’s heart nearly stops when he reads it. “ _Please help — A._ ”

 **The 300th Day:** Reinvigorated with renewed strength, Karl returns his attention to seeking out a way to free Anders. He keeps the note tucked in the folds of his robes, close to his heart, a reminder of the cry for help that has brought him a relief incomparable to anything he’s felt before.

 **The 325th Day:** The templar brings another message from Anders during the night. Karl immediately scrambles off the bed and reads it under the solitary candle that always seems to burn every night from sunset to sunrise. The paper is smudged with red and some of the ink is water stained, but the words are unmistakable: “ _I miss you — A._ ”

 **The 331st Day:** Then once more: “ _I love you — A._ ”

 **The 342nd Day:** And finally: “ _Goodbye — A._ ”

 **The 350th Day:** Desperation reaching its peak, Karl loses all restraint he has left. He pleads with both Ser Oswin and Knight-Commander Greagoir, but does not hesitate to turn unapologetically hostile when peaceful means produce no results. “Are you threatening me, Enchanter Thekla?” Ser Greagoir asks him, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. Karl indignantly snaps his jaw closed. He’d be no use to Anders if he got in trouble himself.

 **The 365th Day:** A year to the day, Karl sits on his bed and mourns the absence of his love when he hears a soft knock. Though he would normally never turn away anyone, every fiber of his being urges against it. He tells them to go away, sounding miserable in hopes to gain enough pity to be left alone. Sighing when the door clicks open, he looks up to see a dream no desire demon could offer him.

Anders stands in the doorway—tired, sullen, and absolutely filthy but still shining like the brightest star in Karl’s sky.

♠

While Anders sleeps the day away, Karl paces the room and frets over the sleeping young man tucked into his bed. The apprentice was weak and shaking, stumbling over his own feet before collapsing in Karl’s arms. Despite this, there is no greater sight in all of Thedas than to see Anders after all this time, safe and sound.

Well… ‘safe’ and ‘sound’ being relative terms. Karl has no conceivable idea what his apprentice has endured over the year, and he shudders at all the ideas and vivid images his mind produces.

Two templars come to his quarters to “remove” his apprentice and take him back to the dormitories. However, Anders would not wake for anything short of violence and Karl assured both of them that they’d know where to find him if they ever needed him. When he agreed to take full responsibility for keeping track of him, the two shrugged at each other and left them in peace.

First Enchanter Irving pays him a visit hours later, but it is no social call. He is scolded by his stern senior for missing his morning and afternoon lessons, leaving his students unattended to wreak havoc in one of the libraries. He sighs, crestfallen. Karl doesn’t want to leave Anders for anything at the moment, but he knows he has a duty to fulfill and he can’t avoid it forever. Before he leaves for the evening, he finds a tranquil and asks her to bring a wash basin and clean sheets and robes to his room as it seems that Anders hasn’t bathed properly in quite some time.

When he returns, all of the candles but one have been extinguished and the room is almost completely dark. Some light from the hall pours in through the open doorway, but it’s only enough for Karl to make out his young apprentice’s form sitting on the edge of the bed. Awake. 

Though Anders has never spent any significant time in Karl’s room before this, he still looks like he belongs there, like he’s always belonged there. The only thing ruining the picture is how skinny Anders has gotten over the past year, the slight of his frame is even apparent under the layers of clean robes.

Anders looks different, Karl decides. Not only has he lost a rather frightening amount of weight, but there is grey-tinge to his once glowing and freckled skin, his long hair has lost its luster, and all spark and spirit has left his eyes. Anders looks like a ghost of himself, a phantom of the once happy and high-spirited boy Karl once knew, mentored, and befriended.

Wishing to see more of his beloved, Karl waves his hand, bringing all the other candles in his quarters to flame. Immediately Anders flinches and lets out a pained gasp, covering his eyes with both hands.

 _‘Light sensitivity,’_ Karl thinks, quickly waving the candles out again. He’s seen it before, not only with others but the last time Anders was put in solitary confinement. That time was only a week—for setting a senior enchanter’s robes on fire, no less—but still had Anders wincing and squinting when he walked into the brighter rooms of the tower for several days. But after a year in darkness… Karl simply couldn’t imagine.

It feels selfish, but Karl is more than pleased that Anders chooses to stay with him during the night. Admiring the slumbering Anders under the light of a single candle, Karl thinks about the past year and tries to envisage what he must have gone through. What he has felt all this time cannot measure up to what Anders has experienced. While Karl has worried non-stop, it’s Anders who has pulled through, who survived… who _loves_ him.

Those words linger in Karl’s mind, forever etched in his heart and every bone in his body. There is nothing like the warmth of the love and tenderness he is ready to give to someone who means so much to him, who returns those same feelings.

Anders makes a small noise in his sleep, twitching only a small distance away. Karl knows the signs of unpleasant dreaming and wonders what he can do to comfort him. He reaches out to brush some stray strands of hair from the apprentice’s face. When his pad of his finger skims across his heated skin, Anders’ eyes snap open. The apprentice wildly lashes out, pushing back against Karl until he rolls off the bed.

“Anders—!” Karl says in a loud whisper, ducking to look over the edge of the bed. He reaches toward him, offering a hand to help him up, but Anders’s face twists up in pain and fear as he crawls back until his back hits the cold stone wall. His gangly limbs fold as he curls himself into a ball, beginning to gently rock back and forth.

Troubled by the display, Karl moves to sit cross-legged on the floor a comfortable distance away from the shaking youth.

“Anders,” he says softly, though his apprentice still flinches ever so slightly. “Talk to me, please.”

_‘It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice.’_

“Please, love.”

The affectionate name surprises both of them, the word only written on tiny scraps of parchment before this. Anders looks up at him, mouth moving wordlessly before he looks away in despair.

And then it hits Karl.

“Anders,” he says, trying again. “Say something.”

The apprentice flinches at the more commanding tone, staying silent as he shakes his head.

Karl feels the cold chill of dread creeping in, his heart breaking as he realizes that his dear Anders cannot speak back to him. After coaxing him back to bed, Karl performs a diagnostic spell while he sleeps. He frowns. The mutism isn’t forced, there’s nothing physically or magically keeping the words inside.

Whatever happened down there, in the deepest dungeon over the past year, was horrific enough to sever the ties between his mind and his mouth.

There’s a chance that he may never hear his beloved’s voice again.

From then on, Karl keeps a close eye on his apprentice. They continue to share a bed every night despite the templars’ numerous efforts to split them apart—Anders now slipping in silently after most have gone to sleep. Karl does his best not to touch him, since the poor boy still recoils at the barest of movement in his direction. Strategically using the candles at his disposal, Karl does find some success in reintroducing his apprentice to brighter light, enough that he’s able to venture out into the main rooms of the tower during the daytime. 

_Able,_ but not willing.

Senior enchanters and templars alike have begun losing their patience with Anders. Their conversations with Karl vary from questioning to outright ordering him to turn Anders away. But he won’t do it. He can’t turn his back on his beloved, not after a year of fighting for him. It takes Karl a great deal of convincing to get Anders to attend his lessons every day, but it’s worth every moment since it returns them to a vague semblance of a normal life in the tower and keeps the authority off their case. 

Almost every night, Anders jerks awake screaming—no sound, just air rushing from his lungs. The only way Karl knows about the nightmares is from the sudden movement that wakes him. More than anything, Karl wishes he could reach over and pull Anders to his chest, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He gives Anders that much needed space and comforts him as much as he can from afar. After the worst of the nightmares, they lay awake together, keeping each other silent company until dawn comes.

Anders has always been tall and thin for his age, but now is bordering on skeletal. Though Karl hasn’t seen him out of his thick winter robes or sleeping tunic and trousers, the evidence is just as apparent. He knows the wretched templars starved him to a considerable degree. It’s difficult watching Anders still eat so little, but Karl sneaks him bowls of the heartiest of Ferelden stews when he can.

When Karl returns to his quarters after his late afternoon lessons, Anders is nowhere to be found. His first thought is that his apprentice has finally decided to venture out into the tower outside of lessons and possibly socialize, but he cannot find him in any of the libraries, halls, or dormitories. 

When he finally locates Anders, it’s in the communal washroom that mages are allowed to use on a weekly basis. No one is supposed to be inside at this hour of the day, but when Karl passed by it, there was steam coming from beneath the door.

The room is practically empty, with dusky light of sunset streaming through the high window and filtering through the steam. The room is hot and damp as he enters, the fire and water runes activated in full force. He moves through the steamy fog—like an eerie and foreboding early morning in a forest—and can just barely make out a figure emerge on the other side of the room.

If it weren’t for the long, blonde hair that runs past his shoulders, Karl wouldn’t have thought it was Anders. His skin is too pale, his shoulders and hips too bony, each bone of his spine protruding. What stands out the most are the bruises of various ages dotting Anders’ skin, from his shoulders to his thighs. Some are dark, purple, angry, while others are a faded green and yellow. Each of them represent Karl’s nightmares manifested as marks on his young love’s body, and the sight of them sparks an unholy fury that bursts from behind the careful walls he’s constructed since Anders returned.

Fists clenched, he makes an uncontrollable growling sound that startles Anders, who quickly spins around. Amber eyes widen when they settle on Karl, and Anders takes a few blind steps back until he’s pressed against the wall. He drops to the floor, hugging his knees and ducking his head in an attempt to hide.

Taking a deep breath, Karl steels himself enough to make a decision. He squints through the fog again, his own eyes falling on the apprentice who hasn’t looked up since. The furious storm still rages beneath the surface, just barely held back.

Without another word, he spins on his heel, too caught up in the thoughts that whirl through his head to think about where his feet were taking him. He ends up in the doorway of Knight-Captain Greagoir’s office, breezing past the two templar guards without invitation.

The templar looks up when he enters, a frown tugging on the corners of his mouth when he sees the enchanter. He draws in a long breath, exhaling it carefully before speaking.

“What is it now, Enchanter Thekla?”

“They hurt him!” Karl says, stopping in his tracks only inches from the large desk covered in documents, letters, and reports. “Your _damned_ templar _underlings_ harmed my apprentice! I—no, _we_ want justice for this. Immediately.”

“I cannot file any charges without evidence,” Ser Greagoir responds with a drawl, clearly only entertaining the enchanter’s request.

“There is evidence!” Karl shouts, not bothering to keep his voice down anymore. The clanking sound of heavy armor alerts him that the door guards have moved inside to oversee the commotion. “It’s all over his body!”

Ser Greagoir’s expression doesn’t change from its measured calm, and there’s nothing Karl wants more at that moment than to reach over and smack it off the man’s face.

“And where is the boy, then?” the templar asks, growing impatient. “Why hasn’t he come forward?”

Pursing his lips, Karl stays quiet. Though the marks will linger for at least another week, he knows Anders could never be convinced to show them. He’d have to provide names, a testimony—something he couldn’t do mute. Even if he could, accusing and facing his abusers would be difficult, even damaging. Any sort of charges will not get them anywhere in the backward system that is the tower, it will certainly not get Anders the justice he deserves.

“That’s what I thought,” Greagoir responds with a curt nod. “You can return to your duties, Enchanter.”

For a long moment, he stays glued where he stands, staring intensely back at the templar. When he doesn’t move to leave, the two templars near the door come forward to escort him. Karl shrugs away from their advance, turning toward the door. “I’ll leave on my own, thank you very much.”

Laying in bed that evening, Karl stares at the dimly-lit ceiling. There’s an anger steaming away beneath the surface, but what concerns him more is Anders. He wonders if the apprentice will forgive him—for walking in unannounced, for leaving without a word—and if he would want to be near Karl again anytime soon. It would be a shame, putting more distance between them while Karl has worked tirelessly to close it.

He stays awake, anxiously tossing and turning beneath his blankets, but the feeling dissipates quickly when he hears the sound of his door creaking open and feels the mattress dip from the weight of a familiar body.

When he rolls over, he expects the apprentice’s eyes to be closed in an attempt to catch a modicum of sleep. Instead, two amber eyes stare back at him, focused and intently searching his face.

“Anders…” Karl says softly.

His mouth opens as if to say something, but sighs after a pause. Cautiously, Anders extends a hand across the few inches of space that divide them every night. Surprising the enchanter, he takes Karl’s and presses it against his chest, just over his heart. The beat beneath his palm is steady, not at all rapid from fright.

 _Trust._ This is a show of trust.

There’s a pleading look in his eyes, and Karl tries to guess what Anders wants—their little game since discovering his mutism.

“You… want me to touch you?” Karl asks, sounding incredulous about something so simple. 

Anders nods his head.

Karl pulls his hand away, looking at it before looking back to his beloved. Slowly, to give him the chance to take it back, Karl moves his fingers closer to Anders. Amber eyes watch them carefully, but he doesn’t flinch when they finally come into contact with the warm skin of his cheek. He flattens his hand, cupping the apprentice’s face and cradling his jaw.

It’s only the slightest of touch, but already Karl wants more. More than a year without seeing him, many months of knowing their love, the emotional distance straining between them. Feeling Anders beneath his fingers feels so right.

“Is this alright?” Karl asks.

Anders’ eyes squeeze shut and he takes a stuttering breath, nodding ever so slightly.

“Can… can I do more?”

With permission, Karl reaches over with his other hand, taking hold of Anders’ face and brushing his thumbs over the crests of his cheekbones that are too sharp. They wander, tracing patterns and trails over the apprentice’s exposed skin, dancing around the neckline of his sleeping tunic. Karl focuses on caressing, being gentle but sure as to not push too far.

He isn’t sure when Anders started crying, but there are tears welling up in his eyes that begin to stream down his cheeks. Karl’s heart freezes and wrenches his hands away.

“Anders, I’m so—”

But the boy shakes his head, taking one of his hands in his own and kissing his fingertips. He pushes his cheek into his palm, holding it there as he leans into it. The way he continues to silently cry while keeping Karl’s hand pressed against his skin is a little confusing, but one message is clear to Karl: 

_There are no apologies needed here._

Gradually they work up to more contact, with less flinching and less tears. It’s good for both of them, lying in each other’s arms every night after reassuring touches of adoration and care. During the day, Anders still recoils when other mages get too close, or are too loud or sudden.

Templars, however, are still something Anders tries his best to avoid entirely. Karl knows one or more of them hurt Anders, assaulted him when he was helpless and trapped, but he can’t pinpoint who. He wonders if Anders will ever tell him the names of those who put those marks on his body, who tormented and tortured him for a year. But then he also considers what he even has the power to do if he had that information. His first instinct is to kill them because that’s what they deserve, but that would get him executed and leave Anders all alone.

Thankfully, Anders becomes more open about what he needs. Often it’s to silently ask for a grounding touch and arms to hold him, trusting Karl to be gentle with him, to give him what he needs without fear.

Karl still wakes up from his own nightmares every now and then, scared that the past few weeks were just a dream and Anders is still in the dungeon. But when he sees Anders safely at his side, he’s able to relax and still his heart. He might not sleep for the rest of the night, but he doesn’t need to, not when he can watch over Anders like he should have done a year ago.

Despite being both an enchanter and his mentor, Karl isn’t able to keep an eye on his apprentice as much as he’d like to. 

One afternoon, an enchanter informs him that Anders has missed three straight days of his lessons, implying that he'd much prefer Karl go after the apprentice instead. It’s normal for Anders to skip lesson periodically in favor of hiding in bed, but it isn’t like him to skip that many lessons and lie to Karl about it.

He checks the usual places first—the apprentice dormitories, his favored storage closets, or the washroom—but Anders is nowhere to be found. He does, however, stumble across more apprentices who don’t know how to choose a proper place to conduct their private activities. Instead of reprimanding them, he asks if they’ve seen Anders in the last hour, but they simply shake their heads.

Karl is about to give up and return to the library when he passes the stairs to the entrance of the basement. As the doors are normally locked to all mages, the fact that he saw two people made him pause.

It’s a templar, no higher than a Knight-Lieutenant by the appearance of his armor, standing at the top step. He looks cross at whoever the other person is, his voice becoming more clear as Karl approaches.

“Come out, little mage,” the templar taunts, making his skin crawl. “Don’t you remember me?”

Karl only sees a blur of blond hair before unruly red anger bubbles up from within him.

“ _What in the Void_ are you doing to my apprentice?” He demands, disregarding how he has no true right to raise his voice against a templar. Striding past the man, he rushes to Anders who immediately reaches out to cling to his robes. He’s frozen in fear, his hands shaking and wide amber eyes not leaving the templar. Anders has never had such an acute reaction to a templar, so Karl instantly realizes that this templar is one who assaulted him during confinement.

If Karl could kill the man, he would.

Well… he _could,_ but he shouldn’t. For Anders’ sake if nothing else, as frustrating as it is.

“Surely you know all apprentices should be attending lessons, Enchanter” the templar replies, as if that was his true intention. “This is truancy.”

“That’s why I am here, he’s supposed to be with me,” Karl replies, taking Anders’ clammy shaking hand in his and pulling him toward the steps. “So if you don’t mind us, we’ll be on our way...”

They slip past the templar with no more trouble, but Karl can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as they’re watched all the way down the hall.

They just barely arrive in the library when they’re intercepted.

“Enchanter Thekla,” a voice says behind them and they both turn to see an out-of-breath apprentice rush over. She heaves, pausing a moment to catch her breath. “I’ve been looking for you. First Enchanter Irving has sent for you and would like to see you in his office immediately.”

“Will you be okay here?” He asks Anders, placing a hand on his shoulder. Though his apprentice nods, he’s not certain it’s the truth. “Alright, go to your lesson. I’ll be back soon.”

He hopes.

When he arrives, First Enchanter Irving is not the only one waiting for him. Knight-Commander Greagoir is there, standing tall and imposing behind the solid wooden desk. Senior Enchanters Wynne and Uldred are also present, standing off to the side.

“Enchanter Thekla, it’s good to see you,” Irving begins, but Knight-Commander Greagoir cuts him short.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” he says, turning to address Karl directly. “In two days time, Apprentice Anders will undertake his Harrowing.”

Blood draining from his face, Karl gasps. Not now, anything but that. “No… it’s too early. He’s too young.”

“He’s a young man—”

“He’s not ready—”

“It is time—”

Karl clenches his fists at his sides. “You don’t understand—!”

“What you don’t seem to _understand,_ Enchanter,” Knight-Commander Greagoir responds, his voice raising to dominate the discussion, “is that there is no room for argument. The decision has already been made.”

Karl grits his teeth, forcibly swallowing down any obscenities that are instinctively surging forth.

“It has been noted that Anders has become a safety hazard to those around him. He is particularly susceptible to possession at this time, so he will either pass or fail.”

“But—” he begins to plead.

“We notified you as you’ve requested, Enchanter. You are excused.” 

The dismissal is final. He clenches his jaw, begrudgingly thanks his superiors for the notice, and turns on his heel to leave. When he sees Anders dutifully waiting for him in the library, so small and quiet—everything he shouldn’t be, _hasn’t been_ since before his imprisonment—Karl is angry. He wants nothing more but to tell his beloved what is in store for him, but it is an ancient Circle law he is forced to keep.

They come for Anders in the middle of the night, taking him from Karl’s room, from his own bed no less. His apprentice puts up a struggle, but the templars quickly restrain and subdue him. There’s a distinct fear in his eyes that Karl can read perfectly: Anders thinks he’s being taken away again, perhaps for good.

Karl doesn’t sleep.

He spends the next morning wondering if he’ll ever see Anders again. _‘He’s resilient, he’ll make it,’_ his brain reminds him, pausing before sending up a prayer. _‘Maker, give him strength and guide him back to me. Please.’_

There’s no news of the Harrowing all day, not a whisper between senior enchanters or templars alike. Karl spends every moment of the day on edge, hoping to catch a glimpse of hair the color of sunshine or warm lightly-freckled skin. He doesn’t, but he tries to remain hopeful.

That evening, his friend Niall appears in his doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame with his arms crossed. Karl looks up from the tome in his hands, raising an eyebrow at his unexpected visitor.

“Guess who’s my new neighbor?” Niall asks, immediately continuing without a response. “Your apprentice.” This gets Karl’s attention. “Well, I suppose he’s not your apprentice anymore. You’ll still mentor him? He’s—”

Karl stands, slamming the book shut.

“Woah!” Niall holds his hands up, stepping into the doorway to make a barrier between the enchanter and the hall. “Hold on—”

“Niall, let me pass.” Karl doesn’t have any patience, not when Anders is _alive._

“It’s too late for that, I just heard a templar say curfew is in five minutes. At least wait until after then.”

Karl still itches to go, but he knows his friend is right. It should be enough just to hear of his apprentice passing his Harrowing, but he still has the urge to see for himself. He remembers his own Harrowing, how it took a toll on his mind and body and how he slept for an entire day after it.

He sits back down, deciding that Anders would visit him when he’s ready. But at the very least, he’ll be able to rest easier tonight.

Hours later, he wakes to see that the sun hasn’t risen yet, its rays having just barely come over the horizon. The small window near the ceiling just begins to filter light through its narrow opening. For a moment, he blinks wearily and tries to get an idea of what could have woken him so early.

But then he notices the solid warmth tucked against his side, hidden beneath the bedclothes. He pulls the wool blanket away carefully, revealing a crown of gold-spun hair and a familiar resting face. Amber eyes flutter open, taking a moment to focus and adjust before flicking up to Karl.

Anders smiles.

And, _oh,_ what a beautiful sight it is.

The apprentice—no, the fully-fledged mage—surges up so their faces are level, their breaths intermingling in the few inches between them. Eyes search each other’s faces, like looking at each other with new vision. It doesn’t hit Karl until this moment about just how terrified he was that he’d never see him again.

“Ande— _mmph!_ ”

Warm chapped lips press against his, sealing their mouths together in what amounts to be their first kiss. At first, Karl tenses but quickly melts into it, relishing in the comforting presence that is Anders in the flesh. They pull apart to breathe, but Anders silently decides that it isn’t ending there.

The two spend as long as they can simply kissing at their leisure while languidly spread across the bed, but the sun rises too quickly and the tower’s inhabitants begin to wake. Anders leaves, slipping out through the door between sleepy templar patrols, but not without one last kiss that lingers on Karl’s lips for hours after.

With the first step taken, their relationship deepens and they grow closer in the physical way. Kissing Anders, whispering gentle reassurance in his ear, holding him close at night—it all feels so right. Nothing in Karl’s life since before entering the tower has felt this right. Anders continues to wake from nightmares, but now Karl can pull him close and comfort him just the way he’s always wanted.

He adores everything about Anders and tells him so as much as he can. Karl loves the little noises he uses instead of words, an attempt at communication that he’s trying to become more fluent in. He loves the little questioning sound when there’s a change in routine, or the annoyed groan that accompanies each morning before sneaking back to his own quarters. Karl especially loves the soft pleased hums when he kisses lines down Anders’ chest and hips, over the last of his injuries.

It’s all particularly adorable, but it serves as a constant reminder of how it’s been more than a year since he’s heard his love’s voice. Every noise, hum, and groan is a step forward in progress, but Karl wishes he could hear it returned when he tells Anders he loves him every night and every morning.

The templars come for Karl next.

He’s summoned to the Knight-Commander’s office just as the sun begins to rise. The templar frowns when he finds the two wrapped around each other in the same bed, but keeps his mouth closed on the walk upstairs. Karl yawns, wondering what it could be that’s dragging him out of bed at this hour. He hates that Anders might wake up without him, that he might panic over this, but there is nothing he can do now except deal with the aftermath.

First Enchanter Irving stands to the left of Knight-Commander Greagoir, who sits at his large and menacing desk. The atmosphere is unpleasant, and Karl shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits to be addressed.

“Enchanter Thekla,” Greagoir begins.

“Yes, Knight-Commander?” Karl responds quickly, feeling a bit testy and rebellious despite its likely consequence. “Is there something else you need to notify me of at this wonderful hour of the morning?”

First Enchanter Irving shakes his head in warning, but doesn’t speak. Ser Greagoir stares at him flatly. “Why yes, there is. As of today, you are a member of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi.”

The news hits him like a stonehammer to his gut, draining all blood from his face and stealing the air from his lungs. “Wh-what?”

“You are being _notified,_ ” Greagoir says, emphasizing the word that now grates on Karl like nails on a chalkboard, “that you are being transferred to Kirkwall.”

His heart is pounding in his ears, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “But why?”

“Enchanter Thekla, please do not argue,” Irving says.

“You should listen to the First Enchanter. There’s no argument nor discussion about this, despite your relentless attempts,” the Knight-Commander continues. “I have two men gathering up your possessions as we speak. Mostly your research, as that is all you have.”

Of a thousand thoughts swirling around his head like a thunderous storm, he desperately latches onto one. _‘Anders. What would happen to Anders?’_

“Please,” Karl begins, hoping to sound as earnest as he feels. “Let me stay. There is so much more work to be done, tomes that can only be found in Kinloch Hold! I would be of very little use in Kirkwall—”

“Enough!” Ser Greagoir snaps, and both Karl and First Enchanter Irving flinch at the gruff and angry shout. “This is why you are leaving in the first place. You’ve caused too much of a stir here, with you and your apprentice bending and breaking rules at your convenience.”

“But—”

“Don’t think for one moment that no one knew about him. He’s visited you every night since his incarceration, skipped lessons and duties and escaped every repercussion. Separating you two will be in the best interest of everyone.”

 _‘Not for me and certainly not for Anders, who you’ve unmercifully broken,’_ Karl thinks, the words bubbling just below the surface. His hands shake in anger, taking an immense amount of focus not to unleash a fireball right then and there. He almost does, but two templars escort him away before he can even think about lifting a finger.

With only a pack on his back of his spare robes, two books, and a parcel of parchment notes, Karl rides on horseback alongside three accompanying templars. There is nothing in his heart except dread—for his future in the Gallows, sure, but mostly for the fate of his beloved Anders. He feels longing already, despite having only just departed.

With a steadying breath, he turns to look out over the horizon as the sun fully rises. The monstrous tower juts out of the landscape, ugly and menacing but enclosing the dearest thing to his heart, the man he’s come to love and care for.

Eyes wet with tears unshed, he says his goodbyes one last time. “Anders.”

Miles away, Anders wakes from an especially horrifying nightmare to a painfully empty bed, chest heaving with only one word on his lips.

“Karl.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @ storybookhawke, there is art for it there too


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